Hark! how beyond the narrow bounds Of time and space they run,

And speak in most majestic sounds,

The Godhead of the Son.

How on the Father's breast he lay,
The darling of his soul,
Infinite years before the day
Or heavens began to roll.

And now they sink the lofty tone,
And gentler notes they play,
And bring the eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble clay.

O sacred beauties of the Man!
(The God resides within)
His flesh all pure, without a stain,

His soul without a sin.

Then, how he look'd, and how he smil❜d,
What wondrous things he said!
Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here awhile,
And tell what Jesus did.

At his command the blind awake,
And feel the gladsome rays;
He bids the dumb attempt to speak,
They try their tongues in praise.

He shed a thousand blessings round
Where'er he turn'd his eye;

He spoke, and at the sovereign sound
The hellish legions fly.

Thus while, with unambitious strife,
The ethereal minstrels rove
Through all the labours of his life,
And wonders of his love,

In the full choir a broken string
Groans with a strange surprise;
The rest in silence mourn their King,
That bleeds, and loves, and dies.

Seraph and saint, with drooping wings,
Cease their harmonious breath;
No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,
While Jesus sleeps in death.

Then all at once to living strains

They summon every chord,

Break up the tomb, and burst his chains, And show their rising Lord.

Around the flaming army throngs

To guard him to the skies,
With loud hosannas on their tongues,

And triumph in their eyes.

In awful state the conquering God
Ascends his shining throne,

While tuneful angels sound abroad
The victories he has won.

Now let me rise, and join their song,
And be an angel too;

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
Here's joyful work for you.

I would begin the music here,
And so my soul should rise:

Oh! for some heavenly notes to bear
My spirit to the skies!

There, ye that love my Saviour, sit, There I would fain have place, Amongst your thrones, or at your feet, So I might see his face.

I am confin'd to earth no more,
But mount in haste above,
To bless the God that I adore,
And sing the Man I love.

FIRE, AIR, EARTH, AND SEA, PRAISE YE THE LORD.

EARTH, thou great footstool of our God,
Who reigns on high; thou fruitful source
Of all our raiment, life and food;
Our house, our parent, and our nurse;
Mighty stage of mortal scenes,
Drest with strong and gay machines,
Hung with golden lamps around,
(And flowery carpets spread the ground)
Thou bulky globe, prodigious mass,
That hangs unpillar'd in an empty space!
While thy unwieldy weight rests on the feeble air,
Bless that Almighty Word that fix'd and holds
thee there.

Fire, thou swift herald of his face,
Whose glorious rage, at his command,

Levels a palace with the sand,

Blending the lofty spires in ruin with the base:
Ye heavenly flames, that singe the air,
Artillery of a jealous God,

Bright arrows that his sounding quivers bear
To scatter deaths abroad;

Lightnings, adore the sovereign arm that flings His vengeance, and your fires, upon the heads of kings.

Thou vital element, the air,

Whose boundless magazines of breath

Our fainting flame of life repair,

And save the bubble, man, from the cold arms of death.

And ye whose vital moisture yields

Life's purple stream a fresh supply;

Sweet waters, wand'ring through the flowery fields, Or dropping from the sky;

Confess the Power whose all-sufficient name Nor needs your aid to build, or to support our frame.

Now the rude air, with noisy force,
Beats up and swells the angry sea,
They join to make our lives a prey,
And sweep the sailors' hopes away,

Vain hopes, to reach their kindred on the shores!
Lo, the wild seas and surging waves

Gape hideous in a thousand graves :

Be still, ye floods, and know your bounds of sand, Ye storms, adore your Master's hand:

The winds are in his fist, the waves at his command.

From the eternal emptiness

His fruitful word, by secret springs,